


Nine

by FromAnonymousToZ



Category: Over the Garden Wall (Cartoon & Comics)
Genre: And the middle finger of his right hand is very short compared to the others, And well... you know me, Disappointing that that is not a tag, Explaining a facet of cannon, Finger dismemberment, Gen, Its only a finger, Loss of Limbs, Missing Scene, Of the incredibly niche kind, There was a story there!, Theres this gif of the beast throwing his hand out when he tells wirt to stop, i guess, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:15:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27575030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAnonymousToZ/pseuds/FromAnonymousToZ
Summary: One of the Beast's fingers is shorter than the others.Woodsmen and their families have always been far too comfortable with blades for his liking.Or: The Beast visits Anna.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Nine

**Author's Note:**

> The gif this was inspired by is in the bottom notes!

Anna clutched her shawl close to her chest as she slipped through the door, latching it against the frigid air behind her. 

It is no warmer in the cabin.

She nudges her shoes off and turns to glance about the empty house only to find it not quite as empty as she anticipated. 

Her hands flutter to her mouth as if they can stifle her surprise. 

“Hello, Anna.” He says from where he sits at the table, in the seat Anna’s father used to sit in. 

Across from him, her chair sits, pulled out, and ready for her. 

She glares at him even as she skirts nervously forward to take her place, sitting across from him. 

“Please,” He says, voice melodic. “Drink.” 

Between them, a tea-kettle and a single cup, steaming. 

She dares a glance over to the hearth. 

The coals aren’t even glowing. 

“No, thank you,” She says curtly. 

He sits serenely still, never giving the slightest indication of movement, of life. 

“I see your father has not returned home yet, Anna.” He says, voice even. 

She bawls her hands into fists in her lap, clutching at her skirts.

He never sounds like he’s mocking her, but she knows. 

Her lips press into a fine line as she glares at him. 

“I wonder if he’ll ever come back.” He says, and she feels a swell of anger. 

He tilts his head ever so slightly. 

It might have been natural if he were human, but it looks so cold and calculated on him. 

“Are you cross with me, Anna?” He asks, and she bites her tongue. “You do not look pleased.”

His candor never really changes. His voice, though melodic is even, only mild intrigue ever pierces it. 

He leans forward, ever so slightly. 

“Why are you mad?” Intrigue tinges his voice. “Do you still think I took him, little woodcutter?” He asks, and color dances in terrible rings through his eyes. 

Anna remains resolutely silent, worried if she opens her mouth, only venom will spill out. 

Amusement colors his voice.

“Is it because I have not come to check on you in half a moon?” 

She clutches at the fabric of her skirts. 

At last, she bites out her question. 

“Where is my father, Beast?” 

“Surely you do not believe I am the one who took him still, Anna.” 

“You must’ve.” It spills from her lips before she can stop it. 

“Oh?” He asks her, red and blue twining in rings through his eyes. 

When she speaks, her voice sounds very small. 

“He wouldn’t have just left me.”

His head tilted further, antlers tilting.

“Wouldnt he?” He asks with that terrible tone of his. “Hasn’t he?”

She stands up.

She cannot bear to look into his eyes as he slanders her father. 

She turns away, looking to stare out the window where snow falls in fat white clumps. 

“Oh, Anna.” He says softly with that traitorous tongue. “When will you realize.”

She clutches at the windowsill, knuckles white. 

“He will not return.” 

She bites her tongue and draws blood. 

“He does not love you.” 

Tears sting hot in her eyes. 

“He left you.” 

A whimper rises in her throat. 

“He-” 

She cannot bear to hear his voice any longer, to hear him spill such lies about her father.

Rage blinds her, and her hand falls upon her hunting knife. 

She does not even realize she has turned and driven the knife into the table until the sound of wood splintering hits her ears. 

She stumbles back in shock, hands clasped over her mouth, horror in her eyes. 

He turns his gaze from her down to the table where her knife is embedded. 

Slowly, he lifts his hand and holds it up for inspection. 

She’s cleaved the middle finger of his right hand clean off. 

He flexes his hand as she watches in horror. 

He levels his gaze at her. 

“You are your father’s daughter.” He clucks.

He stands, looming up. 

She shrinks back.

“I believe I shall take my leave.” He murmurs and picks up his finger from where it lays. 

He tucks his arms into his furs and walks towards the door. 

She remains frozen where she stands, hands over her mouth as he ducks his head and twists awkwardly to fit his antlers through the door frame. 

“Light a fire, little Anna.” He murmurs. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

**Author's Note:**

> Have questions? Suggestions? Prompts? I'm on tumblr [Here](https://doyouknowhowtowaltz.tumblr.com/)  
> The gif in question which sparked this:  
> 


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